In reply to "don't know...can you mumm a few bars" in the post of the song "O Lord."

It's a parody of an old Janice Joplin song. It's called "Oh Lord Won't You Buy me a Mercedes Benz." It goes back to the early 70's I think.

MrSoundman

This may have been one of the eaziest songs to parody ever written. At least it was the most parodied. With the possible exception of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Well, here's my version, written in '72 or '73 by Dave Story and me on the way to Palatka.

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a colored PC My freinds all jump one - ones Thet're outdriving me Worked all of my lifetime To get in the peas So oh Lord won't you buy me a colored PC

Oh Lord won't you buy me a custom made pig My backbone is weary from this military rig Can't fit in the airplane Cause my gutter is too big So oh Lord, won't you buy me a custom made pig

Oh Lord won't you build me a big 8 man star I've only been base for a 4 man so far Worked all of my lifetime For my SCR So oh Lord won't you build me a big 8 man star

Hank McCarrick jumped at and may have been a part owner of the Taunton, MA DZ in the late 60s. He was a party animal and had something of a reputation for flying drunk. He and three other jumpers were killed when his Mooney hit an island off the Massachusetts coast late one weekend night.

Our club onece had a spotter who was really something hot He'd remove the students toggles and still drop them on the spot He never took a student up who ever chickened out He'd get them standing on the wheel and to the pillt shout

"Gear up and let hin go, There's not a damn thing but the target down below Gear up and let him fall. If he don't open he's a gonner."

Willy took a new girl up He had her on the wheel The plane was nearing exit as she started to appeal Willy held her out there wouldn't let her back inside With his free hand grabbed the gear switch and then to the pilot cried

"Gear up and let her go, There's not a damn thing but the target down below Gear up and let her fall. If she don't open he's a gonner."

The plane was now asending to the 30 second height Willy he unhooked his leg strap just lookin' for a light The leg strap went unnoticed as he climbed out on the wheel And as he started back inside he heard the pilot squeal

"Gear up and let hin go, There's not a damn thing but the target down below Gear up and let him fall. If he don't open he's a gonner."

Willy snatched to tie his legstrap but he went into a spin Pulled and came out of his harness and he started augering in But his eyes they kept a'searching and like always found the spot He went into a track made a splash right on the dot.

A short one from the Quincy Convention when they couldn't spot the C-130 worth a damn, then Roger said he would spot it from the ground. I'm pretty sure I heard Johnny Gates singing it on the way to altitude.

I've been searching for the Drop Zone All the live long day. I've been searching for the Drop Zone Fifteen Miles away.

Can't you see the Mississippi Flowing down below, Can't you hear the jumper shouting "Which way shall we go?"

I have talked with both Laura Sharp at Parachutist and the Blue Skies folks about a story on songs over the years but they seem to balk at "Francine McFilthy, the Skydiving Whore," and a serious sociology story, "The Cock Choir." I might have to self-publish.

I have talked with both Laura Sharp at Parachutist and the Blue Skies folks about a story on songs over the years but they seem to balk at "Francine McFilthy, the Skydiving Whore," and a serious sociology story, "The Cock Choir." I might have to self-publish.

HW

"Francine Mc Filthy"

by Little David

To the tune of "Streets of Larado"

There was a young maiden of age fifty-seven. Who drove a blank gore like you've never seen before. She drank and she cussed, and she smelled to high heaven. That's Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

We went to a jump meet in Carson, Nevada. The troops were all lined up at the Moonlight Ranch door. But out in the bushes, one went for a quarter. That's Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

Old Francine the queen of barnstorming banditos. Would punch out S.O.S. 'till her knuckles were sore. She'd make Pope and Bishop, in seventeen seconds, Then take on nine jumpers, that's skydivers whore.

Way back in the old barnstorming days, I flew an old jenny. The struts were all broken, the fabric was tore. And out on the jumpstep, stood Francine Mc Filthy. The pride of Milpitas, that skydiver's whore.

Francine was married to old Ernie Perkins; The wedding took place in the back of a store; The troops was all drinkin' and fightin' and yellin', And Ernie got cursed wid' a skydiving whore.

Old Francine looked lovely, she smiled at the preacher. A pioneer jumpsuit, the gown that she wore. Behind her sweet back, she gave us the finger. That raunchy old bastard, that skydiver's whore.

The marriage was short lived, and so was old Ernie. He crashed through a church roof, and died on the floor. Francine missed the funeral, for a night jump at Chico. So what's more important to a skydiving whore.

Then one day it happened, her navy rig failed her. She tracked for Lake Merrit, but just made the shore. She closed bloodshot eyes, and smiled through her AssHole... And that was the end of our skydiving whore.

So hang your head low boys and cry in your muscat. The pride of Milpitas is with us no more. And the noise that your hear at twelve-five is not thunder. But the voice of old Francine, our skydiving whore.

And now somewhere on that eternal drop zone. Stands one who hollers and beats on the door. Won't you break down and hand out a drink there St. Peter. To Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

A substantial number of these songs came from Orange., MA (my home DZ.) I knew a lot of the people who wrote them and sung them at the famous Inn at Orange. I'd really like to figure out how to preserve of these memories. Except maybe at Lost Prairie, skydivers don't to sing anymore.

As a young jumper, along with excessive drinking, I was introduced to a lot of the Songs & Poems (and variations thereof) featured in this thread. It's great to see them again, and to learn new ones.

Over the years I have written a few of my own. They are usually inspired by the funny things that happen at DZ's, competitions and at Boogies etc. Mostly they would only be understood by people who were there.

Sometimes the not so funny things also inspire:

In SA skydiving, we refer to the planet earth as "The Stone". ("Die Klip" in Afrikaans) Despite the many who have failed at trying to beat The Stone in a one on one hitting match, every year more line up to try. Some pay the ultimate price.

To the tune of "Rainy Day Women #12 And #35"--Bob Dylan-(AKA: Everybody Must Get Stoned)

Everybody Loses To The Stone. LP.

Well the stone wins when you're trying to be so cool, The stone will win because you are a fool. The stone will warn you first it is quite fair A roasted knee- some dust gets in your hair. But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.

Well the stone wins when you think that you are good, The stone will win just like they said it would. Your friends will have to drive you to your home, The stone will warn you with a broken bone, But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.

Well the stone wins when you thought you hooked it sweet, When you're broken from your hips down to your feet. The stone wins when you're lying on your bed The pain is still a-throbbing in your head. But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.

Well the stone wins as the months they slowly pass, You're still pulling grass and thorns out of your ass. You're only mobile with a set of crutches Arth--ritis has you in it's evil clutches. But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.

Well the stone wins when you think you can return The stone wins when you make that last low turn. At the church they'll say that you were really brave The stone has won and you are in your grave. But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.

I have talked with both Laura Sharp at Parachutist and the Blue Skies folks about a story on songs over the years but they seem to balk at "Francine McFilthy, the Skydiving Whore," and a serious sociology story, "The Cock Choir." I might have to self-publish.

HW

"Francine Mc Filthy"

by Little David

To the tune of "Streets of Larado"

There was a young maiden of age fifty-seven. Who drove a blank gore like you've never seen before. She drank and she cussed, and she smelled to high heaven. That's Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

We went to a jump meet in Carson, Nevada. The troops were all lined up at the Moonlight Ranch door. But out in the bushes, one went for a quarter. That's Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

Old Francine the queen of barnstorming banditos. Would punch out S.O.S. 'till her knuckles were sore. She'd make Pope and Bishop, in seventeen seconds, Then take on nine jumpers, that's skydivers whore.

Way back in the old barnstorming days, I flew an old jenny. The struts were all broken, the fabric was tore. And out on the jumpstep, stood Francine Mc Filthy. The pride of Milpitas, that skydiver's whore.

Francine was married to old Ernie Perkins; The wedding took place in the back of a store; The troops was all drinkin' and fightin' and yellin', And Ernie got cursed wid' a skydiving whore.

Old Francine looked lovely, she smiled at the preacher. A pioneer jumpsuit, the gown that she wore. Behind her sweet back, she gave us the finger. That raunchy old bastard, that skydiver's whore.

The marriage was short lived, and so was old Ernie. He crashed through a church roof, and died on the floor. Francine missed the funeral, for a night jump at Chico. So what's more important to a skydiving whore.

Then one day it happened, her navy rig failed her. She tracked for Lake Merrit, but just made the shore. She closed bloodshot eyes, and smiled through her AssHole... And that was the end of our skydiving whore.

So hang your head low boys and cry in your muscat. The pride of Milpitas is with us no more. And the noise that your hear at twelve-five is not thunder. But the voice of old Francine, our skydiving whore.

And now somewhere on that eternal drop zone. Stands one who hollers and beats on the door. Won't you break down and hand out a drink there St. Peter. To Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

Hi Jimmy and Howard, Oh the songs!! As long as there are Skydivers there will be songs to sing!! 'Got a copy of "The Parachute Songbook" Dickie and Marilin Webb at the old "Rumbleseat Tavern" at old Elsinore had a few for sale back in '67 or so, 'bought one. Yup Francine was in it. Here some bunch of trips around the sun later I wonder. Somewhere in Central Cal. where the old Diablo and Calistoga Skydivers used to roam, is a lonely old Church Graveyard with two tombstones side by side, for Ernie and Francine Perkins. If you stand at their graveside and listen, that's not the wind you hear but the sound of old cheapo's opening on high and the laughter of old Skydivers who know why the birds sing!!

Maybe Little David age 39 1/2 might know where Fran and Ernie r.i.p.???